Page 65 of Better Not Pout
Rosalie nods. “Do you need any help?”
Ida shakes her head, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiles warmly. “No, sweetheart, you just sit down and enjoy yourself. Let your Gramps and I take care of it.”
I can tell that Rosalie wants to insist on helping, but she finally agrees, and Ida leaves us standing in her foyer.
“Come on, let’s go sit by the fire and wait for them to finish,” she murmurs as she takes my hand and leads me into the living room.
It’s small and cozy, with a couch and an oversized armchair that looks so soft it might swallow you up. There are pictures of the three of them, and even more of just Rosalie, lining the mantle of the fireplace, the built-in bookshelves, and the small coffee table in front of the couch.
Nearly everywhere you look, there are memories.
“I can tell how proud your grandparents are of you,” I say, nodding to one of the photos with a much younger Rosalie holding a pan of chocolate candy that’s nearly as big as she was. She’s wearing a Sweet Sullivan’s apron and a wide, toothless smile.
She runs the tip of her finger over the glass, an affectionate smile on her face. “They’ve always been my biggest supporters. If I had joined the circus, they would’ve encouraged me and shown up in the stands to watch as many performances as they could. I could’ve done anything, and I know that I would’ve had their full support behind me. But I’ve always wanted to be at Sweet Sullivan’s with them.”
“You knew when you were young that you wanted to work there?”
Nodding, she steps back and stares up at me. “Always. It’s not just about making candy for me. It never has been. It’s about creating a legacy. A place in Mistletoe Falls where tradition never stops. Where people will always feel nostalgic as they step through the doors. The same way that I felt growing up. Sweet Sullivan’s is as much a part of me as I am a part of it, and I just want to keep that alive for as long as I can.”
We walk over to the couch, and she sinks down onto the cushions and tucks her legs beneath her. I sit beside her, our legs brushing together as she turns more to face me.
Percy walks into the living room from the kitchen, carrying two mugs in his hands.
I chuckle when I see the Santa hat on his head and the red T-shirt he’s wearing that has faux buttons down the center, made to look like it’s a Santa suit, that reads, “I’m therealSanta.”
If his white beard were a little longer, he could easily pass for him.
“So glad you could make it tonight, Wells.” His gaze flicks to Rosalie, and his smile widens. “Hiya, sweetheart. It’s your favorite, courtesy of Grams, of course. You know my specialty is candy.” He hands us each a mug, and I smell the sweet spice of eggnog.
Rosalie nods, her lips pulling into a grin. “Thanks, Gramps.”
Bringing the mug to my mouth, I take a sip and immediately taste the alcohol in it.
“Probably not the good stuff you have at the bar, Wells.” Percy laughs. “It’ll do the job all the same.”
Ida breezes through the door, tutting, “Are you saying that my boozy eggnog isn’t good, Percy Sullivan?”
His eyes widen as he runs a hand over his short, white beard. “Of course not, honey. I just mean it’s not the expensive stuff.”
Smirking, I look over at Rosalie, whose smile mirrors my own. Her cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the fire, her eyes sparkling with happiness, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so beautiful.
She’s fucking radiant. Every time I think that she can’t possibly be any more gorgeous, she always proves how wrong I am.
“Is Kennedy still coming, sweetheart?” Percy asks Rosalie while walking over to the Christmas tree and picking up a couple of the presents from beneath it.
“Yes. She’s finishing dinner at her parents’, but she should be by a bit later. I told her that you had something for her, and I think she’s secretly hoping it’s an entire tin of chocolate trees.”She tucks a long strand of her dark, silky hair behind her ear before taking another sip of her eggnog.
“I guess Grams and I are making Christmas wishes come true, then,” Percy says before shooting Ida a glance, followed by a quick wink. “Speaking of, we got you both something.”
My brow immediately pinches tightly. Shit, was I supposed to bring a gift?
“Don’t worry, we’re not exchanging gifts, Wells,” Ida says with a soft laugh, clearly reading the panic suddenly etched into my face. “It’s just something… special that we have for the both of you.”
Visibly, I relax, my shoulders hunching with relief. I should’ve had the forethought to bring something, hell, even an expensive bottle of bourbon.
Percy carries the small, flat present boxes over to us, handing Rosalie the one wrapped in deep green paper topped with a shiny, gold bow and me the red one with a silver bow.
His wife steps in beside him, hooking her arm around his as their gazes move between their granddaughter and me with anticipation.
